


Moonlighter

by stark_nakedness



Series: Talk to the Plate [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Freeform, Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Tea, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stark_nakedness/pseuds/stark_nakedness
Summary: "He is worried. We are both worried." Her voice grew stronger. "Scheiße, why would you compare yourself to rotten fruit Solo? What got to your head during the mission?"Or Illya and Gaby are concerned and the mechanic decides to come out and ask a much needed question.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller, Napoleon Solo/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Talk to the Plate [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/596119
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Moonlighter

**Author's Note:**

> *drops this here for now and may return to edit a bit more later*

Rough translations

\---

Schwarzarbeiter - _moonlighter_

Princepessa - _Princess_

Fuorviato - _misguided_

Penso che gli sia servito di lezione - _I think he learnt his lesson_

Piteog - _fairy/shirtlifter_

Scheisse - _fuck_

Perfetto - _Italian for perfect_

\---

“Napoleon.”

The thief hesitated a single moment; shoulders tense and lips drawn thin. He should answer. It was only polite, but right now he didn't have the energy. Furrowing his brow, he ignored the other presence in the room and continued with his work. 

“Solo please. Stop, and look at me Schwarzarbeiter.” 

He held back a snort at the nickname. He hadn’t been a Moonlighter for months now. The mere thought of it made his skin feel too tight; a familiar itch making him shift his weight impatiently. Still, he did nothing to acknowledge her attempt to draw his attention. 

Solo knew why she was here. He knew better than to expect that Illya wouldn't tell her what had happened a few days ago. After the incident - and one extraordinary soufflé later - Napoleon had decided to hole himself up in his room. Only coming out for food and the occasional visit to the lavatory. 

Gaby had been upset. Illya doubly so if his sharp demands had been anything to go by. The mechanic hadn't taken too kindly to that - glaring at Illya to stop because his insistent yelling wasn't helping any. Solo was too stubborn and agitated to feel truly threatened by the Russian. He'd ignored them and in a rare show of disinterest, curled himself in his covers and slept. 

Today was his first time out for longer than a few minutes - more out of necessity than anything else. The leftovers were dwindling, and Solo refused to have any one of them die from starvation merely because he wished to agonize in peace. 

"I may rethink that one Princepessa," he turned to give her a slight bow. His hand rolling in a flourish as he gave a teasing smirk. 

Glancing up, he paused in consideration. Gabby wasn't smiling back. She hadn't raised her chin and scolded him like a child. Instead her expression remained neutral - arms crossed over a thin shirt and stained overalls. 

Solo released a sigh through his nose and straightened. There was no use wasting energy trying to fool someone as smart as Gabby. Smoothing a hand over his wrinkled shirt, he merely inclined his head in cessation of his poor attempts. Clearing his throat, he turned to the boiling pot of milk he'd started earlier. 

"Illya told me about the other day. He -" Solo froze as her voice caught. Muscles clenched in anticipation as he processed the words. Had Peril told her everything? He slowly lowered the sticks of cinnamon into the pot. 

"He is worried. We are both worried." Her voice grew stronger. "Scheiße, why would you compare yourself to rotten fruit Solo? What got to your head during the mission?" 

His breathing had grown a bit more rapid. Napoleon registered the heat of Gabby's body moving closer. Everything seemed to close in on him - the sound of blood rushing past his ears causing his throat to click as he forced a swallow -

_"What has gotten into that head of yours!?!?" Spittle splattered across his cheek as his father loomed over him._

_Solo faintly registered the sound of his mother pleading with the man before him. Making excuses. Crying that Napoleon was just a boy - fuorviato._

_"Ha! Misguided?" A deep chuckle devoid of any humor._

_"Penso che gli sia servito di lezione -" She pleaded._

_Young Napoleon flinched as his father turned and smacked his mother across the cheek. Her heaving shoulders doing little to hide the muted cry of pain._

_"Learned his lesson? This is because of you! Filling his head with ideas and letting him sing. No boy of mine is going to grow up being a piteog!"_

_Napoleon had no time to react. A first buried itself in his shirt. Fingers dug into the soft meat of his jaw._

_"You disgusting excuse of a son. You go around kissing boys all the time? Tarnishing my good name!"_

_Fear pulsed through Solo. Hate fueled him. There was no time to react to his Father's punishment. He trembled as pain flared across the back of his head. Once. Twice. His fingers clawed at the hand that kept tossing his head against the wall._

_It was too much. Too much pain. He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted to breathe. God. He couldn't breathe. His lungs weren't working and_ \- 

"Solo!" 

The slap had him scrambling backward. His gaze caught the sight of Gabby kneeling before him - expression etched in worry. His chest was tight and he still couldn't breathe properly. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep his mind from falling back into chaos. 

"Illya! Illya come help. Scheisse." 

The shout drew his attention back to the present. Gabby was trying to inch closer, never taking her eyes off of Solo as he sat wedged against the wall. 

It frightened her to see the man undone. Solo had always been so put together and unfazed. It was as if she were sitting across a scared child rather than the man she had come to know. Heavy footsteps drew her attention to the large blur that rounded the corner. 

Illya's eyes were narrowed in determination - gaze roving across the room seeking danger. She saw the moment he registered their residential thief. Panic suddenly clouded the Russian's eyes. 

"Cowboy," the word was spoken so softly as he lowered himself into a crouch. She watched as his hand lifted of it's own violation before freezing in response to Solo's sudden flinch. Illya hesitated for only a second before turning to Gabby with a helpless expression. She knew her own face mirrored the same sentiment. 

"What happened?" 

"I don't know! I asked him about the other day and he froze. His body just seized up. Fuck." Illya's brow furrowed and his lips thinned. 

"Cowboy. Cowboy, talk to me." It was said low and rough. A voice reserved for whenever her or Solo were in serious danger. 

"Peril?" It was a strangled gasp from the other's lips but both of the team members felt relieved to hear Solo's voice. 

"Yes. Concentrate, Cowboy. Focus." 

"He'll hurt her. I can't - can't let that happen." The mumble caused Gabby to suck in a sharp breath - eyes narrowed in concentration. 

"Nothing bad will happen Solo," Gabby reassured. "You're safe. We're here. A team, remember?" 

Napoleon's gaze snapped to hers. His hands flexed into loose fists as the rest of his body stilled. She mustered up a small smile of support - hand coming to rest on his knee. Her heart clenched to see the panic swirling in his blue gaze. It was foriegn. Wrong. 

"Gabby," the words were low and hoarse. The thief sucked in a large breath before slowly blinking. "Peril."

His eyes fluttered open and close - shifting to gaze at both of them momentarily. They held their breath as concern swam within their eyes. 

"Tea. Please. Please -" a furrowed brow became visible as Solo stained to keep his thoughts in order. "Check… must be… perfetto -" 

It was all they heard before his eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his head. Expression lax and body limp - it was the most peaceful they had seen him since the start of their last mission. 

"Idiot." Gabby hissed as Illya moved to pick up the American. 

She scrambled to follow - small hands curling into frustrated fists. She spotted the boiling pot of tea Solo had been attending. The fragrance of cinnamon invaded her nose and settled at the back of her throat. 

Fingers twitched restlessly as her eyes focused on the stove top. The milk grew more turbulent the warmer it grew. Bubbles rose in a murky froth. Steam clung to her face as liquid spilled over the rim. A sharp hiss followed suit causing the mechanic to flinch. 

Gabby blinked to awareness and rushed to flip the stove off. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as fear rose. A single thought flickered in her mind. 

What if they couldn't prevent Solo from boiling over?


End file.
